Okay, so I’m reading my son his bedtime story last night. It’s a book about dinosaurs that I know by heart, but we get to the page with featuring dinosaurs in an elevator, something stops him in his tracks. He won’t let me turn the page until he can push the little buttons for the elevator. Now before you zone out thinking that this is another cute kid story, let me finish: he pushes the buttons with his knuckle. Yes, he curled his little boy fingers so that he could use the knuckle of his index finger to push the button. This is how mommy pushes elevator buttons, because her mommy taught her to push them that way. It keeps the germies on the outside of your hands as opposed to the insides. As my husband points out, the two inch difference is relatively meaningless, but it’s the principle that counts, at least to me. Only now that I’m thinking about it, what principle is that? That elevator buttons have germies on them? Germies from other people? Germies that we desperately need to avoid? Yeah, so anyone who’s been up at night with a sick kid knows that they wouldn’t wish that slow, sleep-deprived torture on anyone, but still, am I turning my child against the world one germy elevator button at a time?
I will commit now to touching the next elevator button with the pad of my finger, firmly and deliberately. Sure, I’ll wash my hands the minute I get back to the car, but it’s a start.